


Pixie Perfect

by kevinrunsfree



Category: Fairly OddParents
Genre: M/M, Pixies, pixies inc.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:25:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5715922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kevinrunsfree/pseuds/kevinrunsfree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pixies are giving the Head Pixie his usual boring sixsome, but Sanderson wants H.P. all to himself. All one of himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pixie Perfect

“I thought you said it was just going to be you and me this time.” Sanderson’s usual frown deepened on his face by .3 cm. The slight alteration would go unnoticed to the average gnome, the colorfully annoying fairy, and the occasional obnoxiously cocky pink-hatted ten-year-old human; but it would not go unnoticed by the Head Pixie.

It would, however, be ignored.

“Yes, it will be. Me, and all six of you.” H.P.’s smirk emphasized the cockiness in his monotone.

“Why six specifically?” Sanderson never understood the seemly obscure numbers H.P. pulled out of his pointy pen-tip head. Sanderson never understood a lot of H.P.’s decisions - that was why he was the boss.

“Because it’s my second-favorite number, and it’s the second smallest of my top ten.” H.P.’s eyebrow raised in almost-amusement. “So unless you want to turn into 37 of you…”

With a heavy, monotone sigh, Sanderson expanded himself into five more identical pixies, comforting himself with the fact that at least H.P. had not tried to request he turn into pi pixies.

H.P. leaned back in his office chair with a satisfied smile. Five of the Sanderson’s came towards him, while the original contemplated leaving entirely. He had paperwork to file, dull things to turn gray, and gray things to turn dull. A boring sixsome wasn’t the kind of boring monotonous task he’d been hoping to perform with the Head Pixie today.

“Sanderson.” He’d barely floated .00001 mm through the office door when his boss called him back. “Don’t be rude. You wouldn’t want to make the other Sandersons feel deserted, would you?”

Another heavy sigh, and he floated back to the mindless pixie goons that were just 1/6th of a whole Sanderson. He could make some really good, convincingly Sanderson Sandersons if he wanted to, but he just hadn’t had the heart in it this time. As such, some of their corners were a little rounded, some of their edges not exactly perpendicular and, if they were to spit some rhymes together, their beats would undoubtedly be off.

H.P. seemed too busy watching Sanderson with a dry stare to care much about the irregularities. As long as they could properly remove his clothes, fold them neatly, and ping them away, he was satisfied. For now.

A long silence passed between them. Sanderson tried to keep from blinking behind his sunglasses, staring H.P. down for at least 4.22 minutes before he finally had to avert his gaze. The dark shades hid his eyes entirely, and yet somehow H.P. always knew when he’d blinked.

“That’s what I thought.” H.P. smiled victoriously. “Now come here and let’s get down to business.”

Sanderson floated over with reluctance. Positioning himself in front of H.P., floating millimeters above his lap, he leaned down to press his mouth against the right side of his neck.

“No, I was thinking we would start on the left side this time.” H.P. flat voice halted him just before Sanderson’s lips made contact with the bare skin.

“But we always start on the right side.” The testiness in his tedium earned him an irked glare from the boss, and he could practically hear the ping of a nasty note attaching itself to his latest performance review.

“This time we’re starting on the left. All documents in the English language are read top to bottom, left to right.” H.P. knew Sanderson hated being talked down to like a child, and clearly took pleasure in the almost-colorful red tint nearly showing on his colorless face. “It’s just good business sense, Sanderson.”

“Fine.” Sanderson spat drearily, switching to the other side. The other six pixies precisely ordered themself in a top-to-bottom, left-to-right formation along the Head Pixie’s body, leaving Sanderson with the smallest amount of room to kiss, suck, and bite H.P’s neck in a repetitive pattern.

Just below his foot, another not-Sanderson Sanderson got the lucky opportunity to be the one actually sucking H.P. off, and with every monotonous moan from his white-haired supervisor, Sanderson had to resist the urge to kick the not-Sanderson Sanderson in the face. H.P. always wanted more than one of him participating, and always wanted to line up the Sandersons with Sanderson first, leaving Sanderson always taking the position up at his ear or neck, and never getting to actually touch his lips or suck him off.

He knew he would do the best job of it. Sanderson did the best job at everything he did (except for the occasionally lacking rap battle performances he participated in behind the H.Q. bar after having a few square shaped drinks), and his sexual performance already topped the other pixies’ as evidenced by the fact that he’d managed to make H.P. come before the other Sandersons got in position. His sweet rhymes in H.P.’s ear, or his square, dull teeth sinking into the Head Pixies’ square, dull neck often had the boss finished the usual 30 minute business meeting in three.

If only given the chance, he knew the Head Pixie would never want anyone but Sanderson touching him. Even better - he bet H.P. would want to, for once in his life, return the favor.

The other pixies froze in their work, and H.P.’s voice died down, one eye opening to shoot a questioning look at Sanderson.   
He hadn’t meant to make them stop. He thought he’d set the clones to auto-pilot.

But if they were still responding to his control anyway…

“Sanderson.” The frustration and impatience in the question-statement from H.P. had Sanderson’s whole body nearly light up in a nearly colorful red tint. “Why are all of you stopping.”

“We’re not.” Sanderson’s mental fan-dersons applauded him for his cool smoothness. His clones set to work, pinging up some gray and dull restraints and securing the Head to his dull and gray office chair. “We’re just getting started.”

H.P. watched him without another word, waiting for the pixies to finish restraining him before finally speaking. “I can ping myself out of this, you know. My phone responds to voice commands.”

“Actually, if I recall correctly sir, you turned the voice command function off when you realized all of us have the same voice.” The phone had spent the whole day pinging up every boring request that any pixie brought up as suggestions in the routine business meetings.

“Oh, that’s right.” H.P. sounded indifferent, but the tiresomeness in his tone over the lack of sexual attention that he’d ordered had the clones momentarily released from Sanderson’s control, floating forward to fulfill their duties.

Instead, they pinged away as Sanderson dialed them back into his body.

“What do you think you’re doing.” The possibility of Sanderson leaving H.P. here like this was absurd. Absurd and all too likely.

“You’re my number one G, sir.” He reassured him with a smile and pinged the door locked for privacy. “And if I understand our relationship correctly, I am your one and only G.”

“Your obvious statements are boring. And not in the good way.” H.P. struggled slightly in his restraints. “Get on with it, Sanderson.”

“I think I have the right to fuck you single-pixiedly.” He delivered his statement with blunt force, but the “I think” at the beginning of his sentence still left a respectful overrule in the hands of the boss.

“Go on.”

“And I think I have the right to have the same done to me.” This line was severely lacking in force. Sanderson had confidence in his job of getting the Head off, but he did not have confidence in his performance of getting off. That was one area of work he had yet to practice in, and it was difficult to find the time to when it wasn’t his department.

H.P. was head of all the departments. H.P. knew how to get off and get someone else off. Sanderson had never known him to do the latter, though he had dreary suspicion about the Anti-Fairy his boss had come to associate with.

“Sanderson.” The calm, collected voice of his boss brought him back from his actively jealous imagination to the boring office room surrounding the two of them. “If I don’t enjoy this, you’re fired.”

H.P.’s knack for giving a threat and permission all in one sentence renewed Sanderson’s confidence in his ability to perform perfectly. “And if you enjoy this?”

“You’re getting promoted.”

“Promoted to what?” As far as he knew, he was second-in-command of Pixies Inc. Aside from taking over as Head Pixie, he had no other rings to climb on the corporate ladder.

“Head of the Department of Getting Off.” H.P. narrowed his eyes in one smug, threatening, boring move. “Now hurry up and save your job.”

Sanderson let out a monotonous, relieved chuckle.

“I’m serious. Suck me off now or you’re getting a pink slip.” Sanderson froze in midair, and H.P. took up the monotonous laughter instead. “I’m kidding.”

Sanderson laughed with him as the pressure of losing his position no longer hung over his perfectly rectangular head.

H.P.’s laughter died down, his stoic face fixing him with another serious stare.

“It would be a gray slip, obviously.” 


End file.
